Windmills Of My Mind: The Dark Night of the Soul    
 The Dark Night of the Soul
31 Aug 2001 @ 14:51, by chrisfitz

The Dark Night Of The Soul


Hope evaporates like a small lonely drop of water
under the searing heat of the midday sun.
Its elusive quality spied for the occasional moment
and then the gloom once again descends like a heavy wet cloak.
Living and dying become one, residing together at the same time
within the tense and fraught physical frame.
Outward appearances remain,
only the darkness of the night can hear
the silent scream that comes from the deepest recesses of the being.
Quietly, slowly, almost unobtrusively the shattering takes place.
The scream has fragmented and can no longer be heard,
even by the miserable wretch who sounded the primeval cry.
Death becomes a living, enticing entity,
its outstretched arms seem to signal a welcome,
a release, a new beginning.
It beckons with false promises, panic sets in,
so subtle it is not even discerned;
but the silent scream returns and takes on a different tone.
The voice of life now shouts and the
Soul starts to lift the darkness of its night.
Only slowly and fleetingly is the light seen at first,
patience is the longest lesson.
Gently are the disparate parts pulled together
and hope shines bright on the horizon.
Rebuilt and renewed a changed person emerges into the world,
strengthened by adversity, made wiser by experience,
and more compassionate through suffering.
The whimpering wretch who was once as a child
has become full grown, sees through different eyes
and slowly changes in accordance with the wisdom gained.
Those who have drunk deep of life's false nectar
can be the servers of the future if only they would look
inside themselves and see the jewels that already shine
and take note of the ones that await their loving attention.
 
Christine Fitzgerald



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